


Ripe and Ruin

by Bluandorange, ravenously



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Snowpiercer (2013), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Fae & Fairies, Fairy!Bucky, Fairy!Curtis, Fairy!Steve, M/M, Multi, because why not?
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-05-05
Updated: 2015-05-08
Packaged: 2018-03-29 04:50:34
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 12,016
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3882946
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bluandorange/pseuds/Bluandorange, https://archiveofourown.org/users/ravenously/pseuds/ravenously
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Steve and Bucky decide to have a bet- Steve can sleep his way through half the Royal guards before Bucky can sleep with the prince. It's on. Neither of them imagined it would work so well.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Go Alone my Flower

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is actually the same type setting as this story I posted a while ago [posted a while ago](http://archiveofourown.org/works/3827401). However, in this setting, Curtis isn't the human that they eventually capture and turn into a fairy, but is actually a Mantis from birth. So this verse is wholly immersive in the Fairy landscape that I've been trying to build upon. And because I inevitably know more about the universe than any of the readers, feel free to ask questions; I feel that I've explained things sufficiently enough, but I might have missed important explanations. So please, feel free.
> 
> And as usual, please come bug me on [Tumblr](http://buckycurtis.tumblr.com). Not only do I have a kickass blog, but I also post _way_ more writing there, and I also post things way earlier than they ever show up on here. So please, give me a follow, send me an ask, you know what to do.
> 
> And as always, this verse was absolutely created through [Bluandorange's](http://bluandorange.tumblr.com) creativity, since this all started out as an RP verse and turned into my 'I am studying for finals and need a break from bullshit' writing project.

Steve and Bucky are supposed to stay in the roots, aren’t supposed to run around and explore and be nuisances like they always are- Sure, they live in the roots, but they’ve always played up higher, climbing and climbing and seeing how high they can get. No one’s ever given them any grief over it, except now. 

Evidently, mantises visiting their Tree is a big deal.

Steve’s mother said to stay here, _please_ , and both Bucky’s parents expressed the same idea. It’s not safe to wander when there are mantises about.

They climbed higher on one of the adjacent Trees, with the hopes of catching a glimpse. The areas where the Queen generally does her business isn’t actually that high up in the tree, so it’s not too difficult to find a branch that gives them at least a partial look at what’s going on. It’s not until the evening, though, that they see anything important. It blows them away, when they catch the hint of green armor, the shuffle of two pairs of wings, similar to a dragonflies but more hostile all at once. 

There’s an older one, with a wreath of small branches and flowers that must signify his position as some sort of king. Tall and gaunt for a fairy, and his eyes aren’t black but green with pinpoints of black as a pupil. It’s odd. Covered in armor, but not blocky like a beetle’s. It’s... Refined, elegant, somehow. His clothes are long and drape over his body, trailing behind him on the floor, the picture of magnificence and beauty. 

He looks like a predator covering up the stench of his smell by looking like the most prettiest of flowers. When he talks, teeth flash and glint. 

The books and scrolls that Steve and Bucky have been reading were not wrong. Mantises look like killers. 

There’s more of them with the King, a troupe of them with their long wings and long bodies, all looking like they’d as soon as murder the Queen Bee in charge, than negotiate with her. Some look like pages, stewards, holy-men. Others look like soldiers, their faces covered and the fake armor, the armor covering the parts of skin not protected by natural growth, looks to be the parts of other insects, or fairies. 

The only one that _doesn’t_ look terrifying is a boy of about eight, no wings dotting his back yet. The ruthlessness has yet to enter his eyes, the set of his shoulders, his jaws. It looks as though it’s starting to creep in- he’s subdued for a child- but there’s still that light in his strange eyes, still that small thrum of energy in his body. He’s absently picking at the hem of his clothes nervously, as his father- Must be his father, the boy has a wreath that implies he’s a prince- speaks to their queen. 

It’s _him_ that interests Steve and Bucky. He looks like he’s maybe a year older than them, and he’s someone they could talk to. The prince would know all sorts of stuff about mantises. He grew up as one. 

“We gotta find a way to talk to him.” Steve mutters, his antennae curling and uncurling in excitement. There’s not many new things to find in the Tree, not since they’ve explored it all, so this is a _challenge_. 

“Yeah... Gods, he’s weird looking.” Bucky peers a little closer, scooting along the branch dangerously. Unlike other fairies, if they fall, they won’t have the safety net of wings keeping them safe. Not yet. 

The boy doesn’t glance their way, not once, trying to pay attention for his father; Bucky and Steve vow to find him after whatever talk this is is over.

\--

Turns out, the boy leaves before the meeting is finished. More than half of the mantises leave, in fact. If Bucky and Steve were older, more keen to looking at the politics of the situation rather than the prospect of a new playmate, they would have noticed that the King is left alone with a troupe of soldiers and one holy-man. 

But no, the second the boy is moving, so are Steve and Bucky, running across branches and limbs like they’re some kind of _squirrel_ , not fairy. It doesn’t take them long to find a place where the branches of the Tree meet this tree, and they can ride it over, and then run down branches that turn into hallways and flooring. 

The mantises aren’t _quiet_ , but they’re not the boisterous crowd that most adult fairies are. And when they speak, their voices are careful, deliberate, softly accented. Perhaps they have their own language. Or maybe they’re just so foreign that they don’t sound like the Tree’s colony. 

Steve and Bucky follow behind them slowly, trying not to be seen. They know better than that- their parents warned them, and the fearful, nervous energy of the colony is enough to make their hearts thrum with a fear, with a soft palpable feeling of distress. These men and women are dangerous. All of them look ruthless and cunning; the prince is the only one that doesn’t look as though he’ll destroy something without looking twice. 

Clearly they’ve been given a wing in the Tree proper- they all disperse into their own rooms. Bucky and Steve think they might not be able to squeeze into his presence, but then his guide- a long, big mantis dressed in yellow- turns into her own room, and the prince is left wandering down the hall.

They hurry, and catch up to him in seconds. His strange, straight antennae twitch when they get closer, and he turns to them, face blank and hard to read with _eyes_ like that. 

“Hi. What’s your name?” Bucky asks immediately, his chest puffing up and down dramatically, out of breath. His antennae twitch and he can feel sweat collecting in the fur on his back and shoulders, but it’s worth it, catching up to this kid. 

The prince just stares for a moment, looking surprised and curious and blank, and Steve rolls his eyes, stepping in front of Bucky and pushing him back. “C’mon, Buck, you can’t talk to a _royal prince_ like that.” He says it sarcastically, way too sarcastically than would ever fit a _seven_ year old. He puffs himself up and says, in a ridiculous voice of authority and respect, all of it fake, “Oh, darling Prince, sir, what should we call you by?”

The prince says something in a language neither of them have ever heard, threatening and beautiful all at once. They’re pretty sure the last part is his actual name, but it’s difficult to hear or pronounce, even for fairy standards. Bucky asks him to repeat it and when he gets the same impossible syllables, Steve and Bucky look between each other, thinking. 

A minute of short whispering and deliberation later, Bucky turns back to the prince and says, “’s it okay if we call you ‘Curtis?’ It’s a human name we found in a book once, and your name is too weird for us.” He shrugs. 

‘Curtis’ looks at them in surprise again; he’s clearly not used to people being so informal or familiar with him. “Curtis? That’s....” He frowns, pulls at the hems of sleeves again. He looks confused, but a small smile dances on his lips after a moment, and he looks at the two boys from under his lashes. “That’s okay. That’s fine.”

“Great! I’m Bucky, this loser is Steve.” Bucky reaches forward and grabs Curtis’ arm, pulling him forward as though about to run. He’s bigger than Curtis, thicker too, but Curtis looks like he’ll hit a growth spurt soon, and if the rest of the mantis’ are anything to go by, he’ll be taller than a fucking rabbit. 

Cutis starts and splutters, but goes easy enough when Bucky continues to pull. Steve makes all sorts of snickering sounds and comments about how you can’t hurt a prince, Buck, you know how fragile they are, gossamer wings and all that, and follows behind them, breath hard and huffed between weak lungs. They’re all hoping his lungs will strengthen when he hibernates, otherwise they’ll be no way he’ll ever be able to fly. 

“We’ve read all about your kind. Real pretty, your folk are. Was that your dad in the throne room? He’s tall. Real tall. All of you are. It’ll be cool to have a Mantis friend. No one else here does.” Bucky rambles and rambles as he pulls and pushes and forces the prince to follow. ‘Force’ is a harsh word- they both know there’s probably some sort of hidden strength in those sinewy arms of Curtis’. 

He’s quiet, even for a prince. He clearly likes to watch instead. When the three of them eventually find a thick branch to settle on, he’s got a small smile on his face, and though his eyes are hard to read, the set of his face is decidedly ‘happy.’

After a few moments of mutual silence and observation, he leans forward and says, “You’re a.... A moth, yes? And a. A butterfly. I’ve never been- This is my first trip away from home.” 

Steve raises an eyebrow, scratching through his hair. “You never seen any of our breeds before?”

“No. This is my first time being allowed to leave the palace. Only mantises are allowed.” He says this matter-of-factly, as though they should all know this. Bucky has since lost interest in the conversation and is sitting right next to his new friend, playing with the long jewelry that drapes around Curtis’ neck. He’s always self-satisfied with stupid baubles. 

“Well, we’ve never seen a mantis. None live in the colony.” Steve continues, and raises and eyebrow. “Why are you guys here?”

Curtis shrugs, smiles and watches Bucky play with his things, and gives him further access to the rings on his fingers and the bracelets on his hands. The fabric of his clothes. “Father said something about ‘real-estate’. I’m not sure.”

“Your dad’s scary looking.” Bucky says, and pulls Curtis’ bracelets off to put on his own wrists, grinning at the way they flash in the fading sunlight. He’s absolutely going to keep these whether the prince wants him to or not. 

Curtis shrugs again. “I suppose. He says I don’t look menacing enough.” His voice is nonchalant and flat in the way a child’s is only in the face of disappointment. 

Steve clucks his tongue and shrugs. “You look plenty menacing. See now, you should give me some’a that menace. Could do with having armor like that.”

“Steve’s angry that he’s a butterfly. I think it’s amazing. Tell him it’s amazing, Curt.” A nickname for a nickname already. Absolutely Bucky to a T. 

Steve rolls his eyes dramatically, but Curtis just turns his impassive, flat face to Steve and says seriously, “It’s amazing. I’ve never met a butterfly. Or a moth. Your eyes are lovely.” 

Both of them duck their heads immediately. Steve is always awkward about his appearance, and Bucky just... Doesn’t often get compliments. A moth isn’t the most beautiful fairy. 

“How long are you gonna be here for?” Bucky asks after a few moments of quiet, trying to absolutely change the subject. He’s by now wrestled the rest of Curtis’ jewelry away from him, and is preening and modelling himself. Curtis looks happier now that the materials are off him.

“No idea. Until Father is done with what he came here for, I guess.” He shrugs and moves his braid to the other side of his neck. 

Bucky and Steve both shrug back. “Well, then you might leave next moon or tomorrow, so gotta play _now._ ” He announces. 

It takes a while for Curtis to ge the hang of things. It’s like he’s never played with another child before, or even roughhoused at all. Maybe he hasn’t. After all, Bucky and Steve are from the Roots; who knows what higher class children do. Especially a higher class mantis child from a different colony. But it doesn’t take him too long to get the hang of it, to smile and laugh and get a look in his eyes that could pass for happy and exuberant. 

They rough house and play pretend well after the sun has gone down- and Bucky only gets more energetic when the sun goes down and he can see better and wakes up all the more. They’re slightly surprised when, by the time Steve realizes his mother is going to kill him for being out this late, that no one has come to collect the prince. 

He tells them both that he’s left mostly to his own devices. If Miss Claude is busy, then so be it, and Father isn’t his keeper. He has to be responsible. It makes Steve and Bucky exchange glances, and shrug. 

“Well, if you ain’t busy tomorrow, then, you wanna meet back here? We can play some more. Maybe we can show you the Roots.” Bucky loops the long jewelry around his finges as he talks. Always moving, that child. At least half the Roots have expressed their hope that he calms down when he gets his wings, otherwise that child will break everything. 

“I’ll try.” He’s all smiles now, loose in a way that makes the other children realize that he was holding so much back, before. They’ve realized, over the course of a few hours, that he might be subdued and quiet, but he’s imaginative and creative in ways neither Steve or even Bucky can get, full of ideas and intelligent words and arguments. He’s the most interesting kid they’ve ever met. 

“Arright. Come here at Sun-high.” Steve reaches forward to touch and prod at Curtis’ antennae, then steps back after Bucky decides to hug and hang off Curtis for a few minutes. Touchy little bug. 

\--

Steve’s mother rightly tears him a new one for staying out so late, especially on the day the king of the mantises has decided to visit. Steve doesn’t even argue, not when she’s technically right and not when you _don’t_ argue with Steve’s mother. 

Bucky is just happy to have beautiful jewelry and both his mother and father, though stern about not telling them where he was, both agree that the jewelry is gorgeous and fits him. 

Both of them sleep well, and are all grins when they finally get to their branch the next day. Curtis is even more brilliant in the bright light- not that Bucky can tell with his eyesight so bad in the day- but his face is even more smooth and neutral than before. He’s tense when he finds them, but when they ask what’s wrong, he doesn’t say. 

They play for hours, explore for hours after that. On their way down to the Roots, to show Curtis where they’re from, Claude finds them. She’s evidently in charge of Curtis, and she has even less emotion on her face. She’s in yellow again, though it’s a different dress than yesterday. 

She looks at Steve and Bucky like they’re scum, and they instinctively back away, go behind Curtis. 

“Your father requests your company.” She says. Her voice is a thousand degrees of wrong, flat and emotionless and hungry all at once. Steve is reminded of the pages that say Mantises take over colonies. Bucky is reminded of the stories and wives’ tales of mantises eating other fairies. 

Curtis straightens and any childhood in the set of his shoulders or the look on his face melts away. “Alright.” He turns and hands Bucky the lat necklace he has- the boy is covered in jewelry from both yesterday and today- and says, “I can probably find you this evening? If not then, then maybe tomorow.”

And then he’s following Claude without a goodbye, his steps brisk and allowing her to carry him across branches when she deems walking too inferior for them. 

They don’t play with him again. In the evening, he doesn’t show up. And in the morning, the Roots and the Tree are in chaos, and neither set of parents will let Bucky or Steve leave. 

As it is, the Mantises came, knowing full well that they had to power to kill the queen and take over the colony. Maybe that was why Curtis came along, to see first hand the family tradition of taking over and colonizing entire civilizations. 

They don’t see Curtis again, for years.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  
> 
>  
> 
> Art done by the absolutely lovely and amazing [Bluandorange](http://bluandorange.tumblr.com) who is practically the co-writer of this thing and who created this universe with me and is lovely and amazing and beautiful and just. Yeah go shower them with love and look how beautiful my children are??????? I love this so much.


	2. Absorbed by Your Thinking

Steve’s antennae twitch, and that’s all the warning he gets. Not that he’d  _know_  it was a warning, considering he’s passed out, lying on his side and thankfully breathing perfectly well. 

No, it’s a useless warning and after a moment of silence, Bucky is collapsing on the bed next to him, immediately pulling the butterfly to his chest. His overly large wings move to wrap around and cocoon the both of them, the green furred things thick enough to omit all light. 

Bucky’s eyes flash in the sudden darkness, and he affectionately leans forward to nuzzle into Steve’s face, wanting to combine antennae and share that overwhelming feeling of safety and stimulus that always occurs. Steve, however, always has different idea, and as he’s jerking awake, he slaps Bucky as hard as he can, wriggling in his grip until his eyes finally adjust to the light and he can see it’s  _Bucky_. 

At which point Steve huffs and rolls his eyes, which is as much of an apology as Bucky’s going to get. He takes a moment to let the heat from the slap fade away, before he’s laughing and holding Steve, brushing light fingers across the base of his wings to get them settled- they _were_  vibrating furiously. 

“Mornin.’” Bucky says, and he’s all smiles. Always full of smiles, even though the both of them know the amount of work he does takes so much out of him. “Sleep well?”

“Up until you decided to act like an overly affectionate mouse, yeah.” Steve huffs again, but there’s a smile in his eyes. Much more subdued than Bucky’s near-manic grin, but still. It’s something. “What time ‘s it.”

“Just after dawn. Hurried home as soon as I got off. They’ve been workin’ us  _ragged_  lately. Didn’t want the green-eyed fuck to decide I should work overtime.” The tips of Bucky’s wings, the tails, curl up and tickle at Steve’s feet and he’d scowl if he knew Bucky was doing it on purpose, but it seems to be all subconscious. A need to touch and cuddle. Moths are so fucking needy. 

Steve gives him what he needs and nuzzles into his neck, antennae skimming across Bucky’s cheek slowly. It makes Bucky shiver, and the two of them kiss for a few minutes, but any actions that would have led to something _more_  are cut short by the gaping, cavernous _yawn_  that Bucky lets out. Hard to fuck when you’d rather sleep. 

“Sorry, Stevie.” He murmurs and nuzzles some more. Steve wrinkles his nose at Bucky’s breath, but just shrugs and fidgets to rolls out of Bucky’s wing cocoon. Bucky lets him, unfurling his wings to lay out beside them. His are strong enough to carry their weight, and Steve can lay on top of one, but it’s never the most comfortable thing in the world. 

Instead, he moves and pulls them behind him, then leans in to curl close to Steve, face resting in Steve’s neck. 

“Don’t worry ‘bout it. You need to  _sleep_ , you oaf. Gonna lose scales off your wings if you don’t take care of yourself.” 

Bucky snorts, and shakes his head dramatically. “Hypocrite. Tellin’ me to take care of myself when I know damn well you’ve been trying to go out and get a job you shouldn’t.” 

Steve looks like he’s about to reply, about to argue, but Bucky shuts him up with another kiss. “Shuddup and let me sleep, punk.”

They fall asleep to the sounds of other fairies getting up for the day, to the sounds of the other nocturnal breeds coming home to greet their families and pass the fuck out after a night of working. To the feeling of the sun rising higher in the sky. The Roots might be worse now, but it’s always had the vibe of intense love blooming forward, a sunrise itself if an entire community can be characterized that way. 

–

Steve gets up far earlier than Bucky does. Always does, too. Even though he’s been living in the Roots all his life, and has been dependent on  _Bucky’s_  pattern of waking up and sleeping, his circadian clock still tells him he should be awake in the daylight, should be out and _moving_  and doing things. It doesn’t help that he’s stubborn and would rather stay awake than sleep. 

He gets up and one of their neighbors tells him that there’s some sort of ceremony going on in the evening, for the mantises. Apparently, it’s open to the public. Which of cousre means that most of the Roots won’t go, that most of the richer folk higher in the Tree are the intended recipients, but still. 

He’ll ask Bucky. 

Who immediately says yes, upon waking up. He’s not too interested in the politics, but he’s always found the Mantises interesting, in a ‘I hate you but you’re gorgeous’ sort of way. Besides, he says, they don’t get the chance to get up higher in the Tree that often anymore. 

There’s supposed to be a party after the ceremony, and Bucky thanks the gods that he doesn’t have to work the next day. If he has the excuse to dress up and drink a ridiculous amount of high-class liquor, he wants at least a day to recuperate afterwards. 

Both of them know they shouldn’t go. But Bucky’s charasmatic and Steve looks higher class than he actually is, and maybe they can pass off as not laughable Root-dwellers.

Since they’re going to the High Tree, Bucky puts on the jewelry he got when he was seven, for the first time in fifteen years. He has to clear off the dust from it, since he keeps it in far in the back of his jewelry box, doesn’t even get a spot on the small twiggy contraption that he puts most of his usable jewelry. Some of it doesn’t fit him- his wrists have absolutely grown too big for the twiggy wrists the Prince had, but the necklaces for the most part were long enough that they still fit him decently.

He looks gorgeous, as always, but with the expensive jewels on his neck, he looks good enough to eat, and Steve spends more time kissing and licking into Bucky’s mouth than he does getting ready. 

Steve refuses to wear any jewelry, which doesn’t escape Bucky’s notice. Steve always tries to elude the stereotypes, and butterflies tend to be characterized as frail, small and pretty, taking interest in shallow and surface-level things. So while Bucky does his hair up and wears earrings and jewelry, Steve keeps his hair cut short and refuses to wear bright colors and dresses, refuses to portray the fashion he was told to like. 

That stubbornness is absolutely one of Bucky’s favorite things about Steve. 

Steve cares more about the ceremony than the party. “We may be living under a hopeless dictatorship, but I’d like to  _know_  what kind of horrible things are being done on a daily basis, Buck,” Is his response to Bucky’s questions, his fingers light as he helps pull Bucky’s hair up high and perfect. 

“Maybe. Still, I rather just get drunk off my ass and dance with some beautiful people- _yes,_  stupid, you’re included in that- and forget about work for a little bit.” He ghosts a kiss over Steve’s lips after his hair is done, and then he gets up and helps to cinch Steve’s tunic tight to his body, a couple of pastel ribbons trailing in the back. 

They both look as high-class as they can without having two sets of wings and green eyes. The ceremony itself is something boring- they’re near the back with the other sets of lower class fairies pretending like their lives matter anymore. Most strain forward to listen, strain forward to watch the gaunt, tall beings that own them all speak, watch their deliberate, cold tones make judgments and have strange ceremonies that the Colony wouldn’t have understood just fifteen years ago.

Steve has a grimace on his face the entire time the Mantises talk and do business- evidently, some old man is being knighted, or something. Neither Steve nor Bucky get it, not really- the Mantises are tight-lipped about their ceremonies even now- but watching some high-class man (who looks surprisingly poor, and is missing a leg and an arm) get upgraded to an even _higher_  position is… It’s angering. Bucky and Steve have to work so  _hard_  just to keep alive. Their neighbors have had to help them out more than a few months, when the Mantises decided to cut wages. 

Halfway through the ceremony, Bucky catches a glance of a yellow-flowered wreath that doesn’t belong to the king, and his eyes widen when he takes in a bored silhouette, long and graceful in every position of his limbs, eyes half-lidded and cold, cold, cold, colder than even their worst winters.

Bucky nudges Steve. “Guess who that is.” His voice is low, tightly-controlled. He’s trying not to look excited and angry all at once. 

Steve can’t help the small twitch of his antennae, taking in the figure. His hair looks even longer, looped into an elaborate braided hairstyle. But put it down into a simple braid, give him more emotion in his face and de-age him fifteen years, and that’s the Prince. The man they nicknamed Curtis. The man who’s father destroyed their peace and who makes money off keeping people like Bucky and Steve impoverished every day. 

Of course they’ve heard news about him. How could they avoid it, when he’s one of the most powerful men of the entire Colony? But they usually ignore it, and this is the first time they’ve seen him in person since they were  _kids_. 

The lens of childhood make the child they played with so much more friendly, so happy and so. So much different than the bored man sitting across the hall, his face emotionless but for the keen look of superiority in his high cheek bones. 

“This one of the beauties you wanna dance with at the party tonight?” Steve asks, looking vaguely pissed and annoyed and… Amused. 

“Fuck no. I mean, yeah he’s gorgeous. But that’s ‘cause he’s a mantis, and you know? We were never told those old stories about them  _eating_  people was incorrect.”

“Bucky.”

“And, like, even if he was charismatic as  _fuck_ , he looks  _evil.”_ Bucky is twining the necklaces around his fingers, trying to pretend he’s not actually staring at the prince across the hall. 

“ _Bucky_.”

“So, no, Steve, I’m not going to  _dance_  with him.” Bucky then gives him a wild glare, tearing his gaze away from the Prince.

“Bucky, you’re allowed to think he’s hot. He’s  _ridiculously_  hot in that ‘I’ll probably eat you and take over your nation’ way. He aged fucking well. Looked dorky as fuck the last time we saw him.”  He gives Bucky one of his non-smiles, the one that’s all in the eyes. “I suggest not dancing with him unless he’s  _hammered.”_

Bucky blinks rapidly, then nods a little, swallowing. “He’s attractive. Probably annoying, though. All high-class people are, you know. Talk and talk and talk about themselves and don’t care about anything but their money.” He speaks quickly, like he’s trying to talk himself out of something and  _son of a bitch_ , he’s actually considering trying to get it in with the prince, because  _damn_  but mantises are hot and  _damn_  but Bucky is attracted to him. Not to mention it could be interesting to talk to him again. And slap him around the face. Maybe he’ll get lucky and the Prince will be into that sort of thing. 

“Right.” Steve says, and rolls his eyes. “I’ll be honest, Buck, if you can get in  _that_  thing’s pants, I’ll be impressed.” 

Which is precisely the  _right_  and the  _wrong_  thing to say, because Bucky’s immediate response is, “Oh, Steve, you are fucking  _on._  Who’re you gonna try to get into?” Because if Bucky’s gonna plan and bet to maybe fuck someone, then Steve  _better_. 

Steve purses his lips and looks around, then lands on a thin but dangerous looking wasp. Wasps don’t mix with the beautiful and dainty butterflies, so it’s gonna be a challenge all on it’s own. “That guy. The one with the short hair? Looks like a bastard.”

“The guard?”

“Yup. Wasp. I’ll go after him, you go after your prince.” They both know Steve will succeed, it’s just a matter of if  _Bucky_  will. This is high-stakes, getting in with a Mantis. 

Bucky grins though, nodding and reaching up to fix the elaborate knot of his hair. “Yeah, alright. . See? With all luck, we’ll be waking up with two very attractive men in our beds. Or theirs. Preferably theirs. They probably have considerably nicer beds.”  His smile turns mischievous and Steve lets out a bark of laughter, quieter than usual in order not to attract the wrong kind of attention. 

After all, they are talking about defiling a member of the guard and the prince while a very important political ceremony is going on. 

When the prince in question actually glances over to Bucky, bored expression stuttering for just a second, Bucky quickly ducks his head, which makes Steve’s choked off laughter even harder to control. Oh, get a few drinks in both of them and tonight is going to be  _interesting._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Art done by [Bluandorange](http://bluandorange.tumblr.com) because they're awesome and love me and this universe. Time for some Bucky.


	3. He's Found Me, My Aslan

Say what you want about the mantises. Yeah, they’ve murdered probably a good third of their original Colony and they take over everything that fucking  _moves_ , and they’re ruthless and horrible and  _evil_ , but. They put on a damn good party.

After the mediocrity of the ceremony, filled with so much dead space and odd traditions that are clearly Mantis-exclusive, Bucky and Steve aren’t exactly sure what to expect. Since it’s open to the public, they can  _assume_ it’ll be good, even if the mantises themselves are stuffy and boring and foreign.

Neither of them has ever been to the large ballroom that sits in the palace proper, but it’s where they’re all led. Large and open and  _glowing_ with so much magic, it’s gorgeous, if nothing else. But the lights of the room are nothing compared to the bar, nothing compared to the full band that’s playing, nothing compared to the thrum of people of all shapes and sizes, every breed clearly taking advantage of the ‘open to the public’ idea.

They mingle for a few moments, finding several kindred spirits that they know from the Roots. They’re clearly here for reasons other than the ones Bucky and Steve are, though, and they dissipate. Naturally, then, Steve and Bucky gravitate towards the bar. Steve never has more than a drink or two through the night, his metabolism and body not taking kindly to the alcohol; it’s a polar opposite to Bucky, who has to constantly drink throughout the entire night just to manage a buzz.

Steve practically drowns a drink and then he’s kissing Bucky on the cheek and gravitating away, a light in his eyes and a spring to his step, wings held up high and proud and confident. A hunt and a challenge always puts Steve in the best of moods.

Bucky twirls a few of the small jewels around his finger while he drinks. He may not have worn these necklaces in years, but there’s a certain familiarity in them, something that grounds him while he finishes off his drink and looks around. He can see, across the hall, the wasp that Steve had his eyes on blushing and looking angry because of it, Steve’s cocky smile easy and proud, his wings fluttering suggestively. The shit head.

The two of them have fucked their way through, up and around the Roots several times already, but there’s something so fundamentally different about trying to lure royalty into your bed. Especially evil royalty. He can see the prince being spun through the dance floor, stepping through the dances mechanically, clearly not deriving  _any_  pleasure from this party. He looks sober as sin, looking contemptuously at not just the ‘inferior’ breeds, but his own people as well.

Well. Steve’s already miles ahead of him, if the guard is blushing and vibrating his wings without noticing it. Wasps might be dangerous for butterflies, but they’re easy. Surface level? Steve chose a challenge. Bucky knows better, and if he doesn’t hurry, Steve’s gonna make the poor kid come twice before he even speaks to the guard.

That settles it, then. He’s gotta get a move on. Maybe at _least_ wipe the look of boredom off of the prince’s face. And considering the dancefloor is full of nothing but high-class Mantises, Bees and Butterflies, the sweeping motions of the wing-tails across the floor should wipe the look of boredom off anyone’s face.

Moth’s are generally not so self-assuming, not so  _out there._  They’re nocturnal workers, they aren’t gorgeous by any stretch of the word, and they aren’t considered aesthetically beautiful by anyone but other moths and Stevie, evidently. The fur isn’t as pretty as a Honeybee’s, and his wings may be big, but they look like a knock-off Queen Alexandra’s birdwing in color and magnificence. Oh sure, he’s  _striking_ , but it’s more because they  _know_  he’s from the Roots, than anything.

Bucky would personally go as far to say that his wings are a little more gorgeous than the plain leaf-like patterns of the Royal family, but he’s seen the Orchid Mantises before, and he also doesn’t have a death wish upon his head.

He waits until the Prince’s partners and songs spiral outwards, gets himself involved in the thrall of music. Many of the people refuse to dance with him, but he doesn’t take that as an affront. He one, knows he’s fucking gorgeous, and two, doesn’t care what they think about him. He’s looking for the approval of  _one_  being in the entire room, and for once it’s not even Steve. He wriggles his way through the dance partners willing to spin with him, and he gets a few appreciative looks when he pulls his weight, when his wings actually happen to look stunning spinning and curling in time with music. Bucky has always liked dancing, always liked moving. Perhaps it’s a holdover from when he was an energetic little bug, but dancing and dressing up lets him express himself in an environment that’s usually shrouded in darkness and exhaustion.

The Prince hasn’t even noticed him, when they’re finally handing off partners and Bucky is placed into the softly-calloused hands of the Mantis heir. Perhaps he’s  _that_ bored- Bucky has made his presence quite known. By now, people have actually begun  _wanting_ to dance with the quick-stepping moth.

Bucky gives a small smile when he’s handed off, and he straightens, trying to look on par with the Prince’s height. He’s not used to being shorter. He’s never shorter, especially with Steve being so tiny. Even in the roots, with thick-bodied beetles and bumble-bees, he’s  _tall_. But Curtis- it’s still the name that sings in Bucky’s head when he thinks of the prince- is a pure-blooded Mantis, and as such, he’s tall and imposing and  _elegant._

“Shit.” Bucky breathes the second he takes in the Prince, up close. He’s gorgeous. It’s ridiculous that he’s this gorgeous. It’s also ridiculous that he just greeted the prince by swearing him up and down. That’s something _Steve_  would lead with, just to make an impression, not something Bucky would.

The mask of impassiveness slips for a fraction of a second. Maybe the Prince isn’t used to that kind of language, especially around the stuffy upper-class. He takes hold of Bucky and leads him quickly in time to the music. He’s got a sense of rhythm, and Bucky would love to see him dance, not just work his way through the motions. He can only imagine Curtis would be breathtaking, mind moving only with the notes that hit his soul.

“Is something wrong?” His voice is flat in all the wrong places, full of sharpness in the others, but Bucky can still tell that he’s  _amused_ , somehow. It’s too sharp. Like a thorn. It doesn’t look right on his face.

“Uh, no. Nothing’s _wrong_. That was definitely a  _good_  shit. As in, hot damn.” Bucky shrugs and grins to hide the nervousness. It’s useless anyways, considering his antennae are twitching madly.  He’s been told he comes across as confident, and he certainly tries to portray himself in that way, but he’s always so aware of his partners, always nervous deep down. He’s positive that’s the difference between him and Steve.

The Prince just looks at him blankly for a moment, that hungry amusement still in his features, before he looks Bucky up and down, his eyes widening fractionally when he catches some of the jewelry on Bucky’s throat. He’s got his own stuff on, too, but he fucking  _forgot_ he’s wearing the Prince’s shit, and  _shitshitshit_ , he’s gonna think Bucky’s some weirdo with a problem, with an obsession but really, Bucky’s just a magpie for shiny shit.

Any amusement drains from the Prince’s features, and he looks like he wants to hand Bucky off to the next dance partner  _immediately_. “You live in the Roots, yes?” He looks at Bucky’s wings like he doesn’t know already, like him and Steve didn’t try to show him the Roots fifteen years ago.

“Yeah. Came all the up here to join in the festivities. Not too many open to the public. Gotta get my dancing in sometimes.” Bucky pretends like he’s not wilting, like his wings aren’t drooping by the second at the  _look_  Curtis is giving him.

The prince nods, and the music begins. They spin, but it’s empty. Bucky doesn’t want to bare his soul out of fear, and Curtis is clearly holding himself stiff. Like a prince should.

Bucky bridges the silence after a moment of deliberation, letting the tails of his wings fare up and outwards in a display of mental courage. There’s a crash from the band- the song playing is odd in energy, a strange thing to dance to. It requires quick steps followed by slow, movements that are hard to expect. The tempo changes and slides and eddies, a wave on a wave on a wave of newness. “You ever go by ‘Curtis’,  after?” It’s best to bridge the topic now.

“No.” The prince replies. Bucky would think of him by his real name, but even now, fifteen years afterwards, he can’t fucking pronounce the names the Mantises go by. Him and Steve just make up strange little human names for the people they’re expected to know, when they can’t just refer to them by title. Curtis’ face is cold, so cold, and Bucky wants to ignite a fire. He’s never seen someone so personifiable by the moon of his breed’s mythos. Larger than life and cold, a silent watcher in both beauty and horror.

Bucky nods, sticking out his lip in a deliberating gesture. “You should. It’s a helluva lot easier to pronounce than whatever the fuck your real name is. Plus, it’s not bad. Saw it in a human book. Human names are almost always good.”

The prince stares at him for a moment, his step faltering for a second. He’s trying to figure Bucky out, and it’s taking most of his concentration. “Your name is Bucky. Yes?” One of his antennae twitch, and Bucky has the insatiable urge to touch it. He refrains, though, because he’s not suicidal. He’s seen the fucking teeth on a mantis.

“Yeah. I know, I know, it’s one of the weirder names I coulda picked. But it’s easy to remember, y’know. Never met anyone who’s ever forgotten what my name is.” He smiles again, and he knows it’s not a proper smile, too much devil and not enough angel in it, but it feels perfect to throw the Prince’s way, especially after the sinful twirl he just accomplished. Learning how to dance every weekend in the Roots has it’s advantages.

The prince is quiet, and if Bucky weren’t watching him closely, he’d say he’s ignoring him. But no, the calculation in those eyes, the, the movements- or lack thereof- in his body, he’s doing anything but. He eventually lands on, in a quiet tone that would be dangerous if Bucky couldn’t see the hesitation there, “Are you wearing my jewelry on purpose, Bucky?”

It takes Bucky by surprise.  _Thinking_  that, maybe. But saying it out loud? “Fanciest things I own. Probably worth a fortune, too. But nah, I wasn’t expecting to dance with a  _prince_.” It’s easier to keep the disdain and anger out of his voice than he expected. Maybe it’s the liquor. Maybe it’s the fact that if he shows any disdain, he might be executed.

“You ever think of selling them?” His voice is matter of fact, very… It sounds like it would be what he would have done. It’s a curious thing. He’s surprised a prince would think of doing something like that. But it’s interesting, at least. He’s smart.

“Absolutely. But y’know, someone woulda thought I nicked it. And I kinda liked having it around.” He smiles again. Doesn’t say that he kept it around to remind himself that at one point the royal family didn’t take over and destroy their livelihoods. Doesn’t say that he found it satisfying to watch just beautiful jewels and baubles collect dust in the back of his jewelry box, unused and useless. Shiny but worthless.

He says nothing more and Bucky has nothing to respond with. Instead, he spends the rest of the song learning how to move with Curtis’ body. Still so restrained, but he clearly loosened up, just a little. Bucky hasn’t even noticed that since the song started, it’s changed from Curtis leading to Bucky leading him. Which lets Curtis move with Bucky’s movements, following behind and moving where he moves.

The silence isn’t awkward, though. The tension has lessened, just a little, to the point that Bucky can let himself just soak up Curtis’ presence. It’s so large, even while restrained. He takes in other observations, too. He’s never so close to mantises that he can just watch.

He’s surprised when the flowing movements change and Curtis isn’t just letting him lead anymore. He pulls a few fingers beneath the necklaces, his expression unreadable, before murmuring, somewhat quietly and unsure, “It still suits you.” He flits his gaze up to Bucky’s for just a moment before looking back down at the jewels glittering under the magical lights of the hall, and then his fingers slip away. No more than a few moments of touch, of eye contact, but it takes Bucky’s breath away. Whenever the prince becomes king, he’ll command so much power, for his gaze feels like it’s all that matters in the world.

And yet it was so precious and soft, unsure and nervous. For just a moment, Curtis looked like a real person, not some shell of a creature destined to rule.

“When you manage to slip away from your adoring suitors,” Bucky murmurs, forcing his voice steady, “Will you meet me by the bar? I’d love to talk without having to pause for a step of music.” What he’d  _love_  to do is defile a Royal icon, but honestly, that isn’t appropriate to say. Not yet, at least. Steve might pull off saying something like that, but (a), he’s not Steve, and (b), he’s pretty sure such petty sexual attraction would scare Curtis off.

Sex is sex, but something tells Bucky that that feat wouldn’t be important. It wouldn’t accomplish anything with Curtis. Something tells him that Curtis is dying for something more, even if he doesn’t realize it yet.

Curtis frowns for just a second, gaze flicking over to the bar and then back to Bucky. He lets himself be spun one last time, and then seems to steel himself, eerie eyes strong, jaw set. “Alright. I can probably wriggle away in twenty minutes. Are you willing to wait that long?”

“I think I can manage for twenty minutes with unlimited booze.” Bucky says, rolling his eyes. Curtis’ antennae twitch, and Bucky’s pretty sure that’s as close to a laugh as he’s going to get.

“I’ll see you then.” Without another glance, Curtis cleanly switches partners perfectly in time with the switch of the songs, leaving Bucky to move fluidly away from the main dance floor. He watches Curtis move in line with another partner, and feels a small twinge of satisfaction when he notices that he looks distracted and bored again, holding onto the ladybug’s waist softly but impersonally, small talk looking painful for him.

With a smirk, Bucky moves his way to the bar, orders himself a drink, and waits.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Look, I couldn't resist making the chapter title a reference to a famous lion. Even when Curtis is a literal praying mantis, my mind calls him a lion. Anyways, here's some art of him, done by [Bluandorange](http://bluandorange.tumblr.com). This art of him was actually done before this specific verse was concocted, which is why he looks vaguely confused with himself. This story's version of Curtis is extremely cold and confident (for the most part) and would probably be wearing a wreath similar to a flower crown. 


	4. Flood of Blood to the Heart

“Shit.” The wasp’s name ends up being something harsh and forgettable, like most characteristics of the breed. Oh sure, they’re mean and noticeable, but they’re nothing special. Steve calls him Brock. It’s the closest he can get to the harsh tones the wasp’s name actually sounds like.

He’ll never cease to wonder why fairy’s names are so  _long_  and ridiculous and full of flavor, when the human variety of names- short and sufficient and hinting at nothing of a character, just a  _name_ \- is so much nicer. Sure, he can draw out all seven syllables of Bucky’s real name, evoke the heavy oppressive atmosphere of a storm before it gives, but that takes so much  _work_ , and trust him, but it’s difficult to flirt when a name takes ten seconds to say and gives a feeling, an  _emotion_  that he’d rather not bring up when he’s trying to talk someone to bed.

Wasps are named after harsh and rough things, anyways. Nothing pretty or sexy about that. Brock’s name evokes the feeling of a metal blade, of copper and harsh wing strokes.  

So Brock it is. Harsh in it’s own way, but much easier to pronounce. Steve leans in and grins with a smile far too predatory to come from a  _butterfly._  Bucky’s said he acts more like a wasp with the wrong kind of wings before. “Harsh language for a proper  _guard_ , huh?” His voice is sharp and full of mockery, one antenna cocked to the side almost, like a raised brow.

He leans forward and takes the drink out of Brock’s hand smoothly, knocking it down before handing it back to him. It’s a strange sight- Brock is at least a head taller than Steve, and yet  _Steve’s_  the one that’s crowding into his space, intimidating and imposing.

No one could ever say that Steve is a stereotypical butterfly.

He looks over at Bucky once or twice and finds him dancing with the prince. And well, clearly Steve’s gonna win before Bucky ever does, but that  _always_  happens. Bucky’s an emotional shithead who likes to talk it out first, likes to get to know the person and form some sort of friendship. Steve’s a little more direct.  

“Since when are guards proper? We’re brute  _force,_  butterfly.” Oh, bless his heart, he’s trying. He’s trying so hard to be in charge and to get this little butterfly to bend down and over just for him, when the opposite is going to happen.

“That makes sense. I just assumed the mantises wouldn’t want such  _filth_  coming from their Guard.” Steve all but purrs and leans forward to smile against the corner of Brock’s mouth. “This is better, though. I can make you sing a dirty song, just for me.”  Oh, but wasps are easy.

In the span of the next ten minutes, Steve spends his time making out with a wasp crushed against the wall and glancing back to see how Bucky’s doing. Going after a mantis is risky, and he’s not even sure they fraternize with any other breeds. But he’s Bucky, and Steve’s sure they’ll wake up in the morning to a frantic prince putting on his crown and flying the fuck back up to the palace.

Brock makes a moaning noise when Steve presses even harder against him, antennae twisting subconsciously together as their own pheromones work their magic and spread simply  _sinful_  thoughts to both of their heads. Brock’s needy and wants it, so Steve pulls back, lips red as wine, and eyes darker than the night.

“Fuck, you’re something, butterfly.”

“Sure.” Steve says and pulls Brock with him reaching behind to untangle the wasp’s poor wings, crushed against the wall as they were. Something like that would have put Steve on the ground for days. But then again, a wasp’s wings can actually fold.

“You wanna- You wanna take this somewhere else?” Brock looks hopeful, even if he’s trying not to. He tries way too hard and it’s painfully obvious in every single one of his movements. Steve’s  _about_  to say yes, he really is, but when he glances back towards Bucky and sees him at the bar, he latches on to another sight that makes him grin internally.

The man is less than half a head taller than Steve. Which is  _weird_  and odd, but then again, honey bees aren’t the tallest. But that’s not the interesting part. The interesting part is that these days, honey bees aren’t too common, especially not in the main Tree. Most of them moved to one of the peripheral trees after the Queen died, mostly out of political fear of being tracked down by having any connection to the royal family of before. Even if that connection was by breed alone. Who knew? Mantises were weird, no one knew how they’d react.

So to see a honeybee actually  _come_ to one of these parties? Is a bit strange. And the man himself looks interesting, if only because there’s a clear thrum of desperation for  _something_  humming beneath his every movement.

Maybe this challenge wasn’t the best, anyways. Besides, Bucky needs to have a win every now and again. And Steve’s already fucked wasps before, this isn’t some magical feat by any stretch of the imagine. He leans in after a second and kisses Brock once more, filthy and long and passionate, just to give the man something he clearly wants, and then he pulls away. “I’m actually waiting for someone. Have to get him home when he’s done here.”  _Thanks for the offer_ is left unsaid. Steve isn’t in the business of burning bridges and having a doting admirer on the Royal Guard might come in handy one day.

Brock clearly wants to object, clearly wants to try and convince Steve to come back with him so they can fuck each other senseless until the morning comes, but he’s way too proud to  _say_  anything. Steve keeps an eye on the bar and kisses and rubs against Brock for a few minutes longer, but they eventually split apart, Brock awkwardly trying to maintain composure and not seeming like an idiot so utterly controlled by a  _butterfly_  of all breeds. Steve lets him have it. Any other time and he’d poke fun and be a dick, but he doesn’t want to start an argument for once, and he really doesn't have the energy for the wasp right now.

Bees have always been prettier than wasps, anyways. Softer. And clearly, Steve likes soft, if Bucky’s anything to go by.

Brock leaves, and probably goes to find someone else pretty to makeout with. Or something. Steve stopped paying attention to him five minutes ago, and the second he’s not paying attention to Steve is when he can go over to the bar and sit down next to the bee, confident as he can be.

If Steve stretches back his memory as far as he can, there’s the vague image of tall and proud honey bees, impeccable and perfect with a soft but strong demeanor. There was a reason everyone loved the old queen. Their fur is beautiful but not overbearing like someone would consider Bucky’s. But it’s still  _there_ and healthy looking compared to the thin coat that butterflies tend to get.  Their antennae are expressive without being annoying, they aren’t monstrously tall like their mantis predecessors and they usually tend to  _ooze_ a sense of leadership. Sure, they’re extremely elitist and it’s extremely rare to find a honey bee even associating with anyone outside their breed, but they’re gorgeous.

To Steve, almost prettier than a moth. Almost.

After looking at him up close for two seconds, this honey is literally none of those traits. Except in appearance. He’s gorgeous with perfect fur and perfect antennae and bright eyes, but he looks disheveled and not impeccably clean like Steve is expecting. There’s dirt under his nails and pollen in his hair and he smells more like alcohol than like the Tree. He looks like he’s from the  _Roots,_  but Steve knows he isn’t, since he’s never seen him before.

“You smell like a wasp. Careful; they sting.” Are the man’s greeting words and Steve immediately wants to sigh.  Sarcasm and disinterest, like the honey bee isn’t checking Steve the  _fuck_ out right now.

“I can handle it. What about you? Bees got stingers, too.”

“You ever see a bee? Like, a real one? Sting once and they die.” He snorts, and grins at the look Steve gives him. Introduces himself, too, and the name is every bit as pretentious as Steve would have imagined. If he cared to guess, he’d imagine that a honey bee name that invokes the taste of honey and the smell of a honeysuckle flower isn’t too rare by any stretch of the word.

It makes him wrinkle his nose. It’s so sweet, and the horrible thing is that Steve’s name is even sweeter. Feels so great to just say, “I’m Steve.”

“Steve. That’s… Ridiculously simple. There’s not even magic in it. Do butterflies not do magical names? Surprises me, considering how flamboyant they are, but okay.” He rambles like he has no filter and just lets anything in his mind leak out in a constant stream. It’s infuriating and endearing all at once.

“It’s a human name. No magic to those, last I checked”

The bee stares at him for a second and gives an impressed little sound. “Huh. That makes sense. So you just gave yourself a random human name. What would mine be? I mean, I’m just assuming you sit around and think about this all day long, if you go by one of their weird names.” Oh, it’s going to be satisfying shutting him up later.

Steve looks at him critically for a few second, raising an eyebrow and letting his antennae curl and uncurl several times. He could just make something up, like he did with Brock. Like he and Bucky did, years ago, since none of the book names felt like  _Bucky._  But a real, established and catchy name for the bee makes more sense. Be just the thing to get someone like him to grin and appreciate it.

“Tony.” The beauty of the human names, Steve’s found, is that they have no definable meaning. And if they do, it’s not in any language he knows. It’s open to interpretation, can mold and be warped by the personality of the holder. Unlike his real name, which gives rise to judgment  _immediately._

And just as he thought, the bee grins and nods, letting the name fall off his tongue a couple times. “I like it. It’s easy. Rolls out of the mouth, y’know? A purr. People’ll like it. Not many ‘Tony’s’ flying around.” He takes a swig from his drink, and says, “Hi, Steve, I’m Tony.”

“What’s a honeybee like you doing here?” Tony clearly wanted to try something, probably flirt with him, and Steve’s getting there, he is, but he wants to stay in charge, in full command of the conversation.

Tony shrugs and throws a long-fingered hand over to the general direction of…. Bucky? Who’s at the end of the bar, talking low to the mantis. The mantis isn’t even sitting yet, just standing beside the bar and ducking his head to be at a similar level to Bucky. Bucky looks awestruck and the mantis looks like he’s trying hard not to be.

“Got invited by that bastard. Said he wanted a friend at one of these ‘vapid, ridiculous parties.’ And I never turn down free booze, easy people or dancing.” Or the prince, either, evidently. Steve can see the adoration in his eyes clear as the sky, and it makes him grin.

“Well alright then.” Oh, if he fucks the prince’s friend while Bucky fucks the prince, that’ll just be perfect. Tony is so much better than a wasp that smelled like too much cologne. He steals a sip of Tony’s drink and moves his chair to sit a little closer, ‘accidentally’ brushing his wings against the bee’s.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A Steve POV'd chapter, so naturally I need to insert some art of what Steve looks like. As always, the art is by the extravagant peach known as [Bluandorange](http://bluandorange.tumblr.com)


	5. Sleeplessly Embracing You

He almost doesn’t go. It would be easy, and understandable for a  _prince_ to have better things to do than to talk to some Root-dweller who clearly has no money to his name. And beyond that, he is a prince and doesn’t have to do anything, regardless of what some  _moth_  would think of him.

Especially a moth that will have preconceptions about him from fifteen years ago, when he was a child and didn’t understand how the world works. He should walk away and never turn back, because fraternizing with someone he should never have spoken to in the first place, even when he was seven, is  _dangerous_.

But he’s interesting.

He’s interesting and pretty in his own way, with a soft smile and warm eyes that he’s not  _used_ to seeing. No one that he knows has such a soft face, such a genuinity to him. Oh, he’s seen it before at these parties with other breeds, but that softness has always come as weakness, pitiful and naive in every way.

And yet the earnest smiles and warmth in  _Bucky’s_  face doesn’t seem like any of those things. Just. Solid. He doesn’t seem  _weak_ , though maybe he  _could_  be manipulated. He doesn’t seem dirty, either, even though he’s from the Roots and covered in its impoverished grime.

But even that spark almost isn’t enough to send him over. He almost just lets himself be swept up in the dancing- which is hardly  _dancing_  and more political movements designed by the people holding his hands to get him to notice them- and movements and the boring inane conversations they bring up.

Every twirl, every time the light hits his eyes, he’s drawn to the huge green wings, brought to the long strangely colored hair. He can’t help but  _stare,_  and after almost another half hour of dancing, he decides to move. Decides to. To talk to him. He shouldn’t be nervous; what he _should_ be doing is acting as though he’s going to toy with the pitiful creature and use him to his own purposes.

It’ll never happen like that. The prince has never been as emotionally cold as he’s been told to be. Oh, people might think it, considering he hardly ever reacts to anyone without a look of disdain and superiority coloring his face. It doesn’t help that a mantis’ eyes never reveal much at all.

He shuffles his wings and fidgets the jewelry adorning his neck and wrists, and then steps over to the bar. Not too fast. He can’t be obvious about his nervousness, and neither can he be obvious in his interest. He lets the crowd move him as slow as it wants, lets himself be carried across the floor, lights flashing and moving. There always seems to be a spotlight on Bucky.

“I wasn’t sure you would come.” Bucky says as soon as the prince is even close to him. The moth’s antennae twitch, and he lifts a glass to his lips- before he does so, though, he raises the glass at an angle in some sort of butchered attempt at a salute.  “You want a drink?”

The prince takes a second to deliberate even sitting down, before he ultimately decides it would be stranger to stand. He shuffles his clothing and sits beside Bucky, looking out of place- He might not be able to see himself, but he’s not an idiot, and he knows he doesn’t belong in a party like this, open to outsiders and people who actually have a personality. “No, thanks. I don’t drink.”

Bucky gives him a look, but just says, “Like, at all? I mean, I can see how the prince getting shitfaced would look poorly on the family, but still.” Bucky certainly doesn’t  _smell_ averse to getting shitfaced every now and again, and the Prince refrains from giving a sneer. What a horrible reaction- he doesn’t even want to make, but he’s had to so many times in the past it’s just natural.

“Not at all. I don’t like the taste.” Or the lack of control and overwhelming empathy that getting even the slightest bit tipsy makes him. He’s already a weak mantis- he doesn’t need the alcohol to exemplify that.

Bucky’s face is amusing with how  _open_ it is- he makes an exaggerated look that’s a mixture of impressed and consideration, mouth pulled downwards not in a frown but in a look of mild shock. “Well. Guess you can just stick to water and juice, I guess. I’ll drink enough for the both of us.” He pats his stomach, smiling. “Huge metabolism.”

It’s immediately obvious that he’s not used to being around high-class citizens. Especially not mantises, the most powerful of them all. Either that or he’s got a massive ego and doesn’t care that the prince could say one word and Bucky’s entire life would be ruined.

“Be my guest.” He says it as blandly as possible, trying to keep up some level of disinterest, but it’s immediately squandered by the comical way Bucky grins and knocks down his drink like his life depends on it.

“Oh, I will. Trust you me.”

The prince just stares at him, trying to figure this man out. Oh, sure, he’s seen plenty of men and women from a lower social circle try to get near him, try to elevate themselves through him but that’s… He doesn’t think that’s what Bucky is. And even if Bucky is just trying to get in his pants- which he still isn’t sure of, he’s never been  _good_ at this part- he doesn’t seem fake about it. Everything about him is so  _viscerally real._  It’s infuriating.

Childhood feels so far away, and he’s spent years trying not to remember the first few days he had ever met other breeds. Forget about the two days of friendship and then nothing. The two days of feeling  _normal,_  like a  _child,_  and then being ripped away from it because his father had to kill the queen and take over an entire Colony and rearrange the entire social order in order to fit his needs.

Sitting in front of the man now, though, it’s hard to forget. Hard to forget the grin that’s just as wide as it is now, hard to forget the restless energy that had once seemed amusing now filled out. It’s no wonder Bucky became a big man- it’s even less of one to see that his wings are  _huge._  His presence at seven was immense- now it could fill an entire room and change the course of any conversation  with a look.

He’s got so much fur, so much thick patterning of color and scales that make him look even bigger than he is. He’s never seen a furrier fairy in his life, but to be fair, mantises have none of that whatsoever. Not even the light cropping of hair that a butterfly or a beetle has. The fur would probably reach his wrists if he pushed his hands in, if he tried to hold on tight or brush his fingers teasing light against the base of Bucky’s wings to elicit a noise and-

This is not alright.

This is too quick of a response too fast, and for some _root dweller_?  He never even has a response like this to his best friend, who is nearly just as furry like all honey bees, just as smiling and immense when he chooses to put his down his walls and actually  _be._

He must have been staring at the moth for too long, and he blinks back to him, watching the way the tips of his wings twitch in unspent energy and how his antennae do the same. “So. Do I gotta call you by your real name, your highness? Or can I just stick with Curtis?”

With anyone else, he’d feel like hissing and threatening him, feel like making him feel like the lowe scum that he is. But disrespect from Bucky doesn’t feel like disrespect and he can _feel_ himself relaxing, fractionally. Bucky isn’t a danger to him. He just wants to have  _fun._  Which. The prince doesn’t know how to do that, not exactly, and not in the innocent way that Bucky likely wants, but-

He coughs to come back to reality. He’s been staring too long and is probably coming across as vapid and strange and with an empty mind.

“Curtis is fine. You probably can’t pronounce my actual name, anyways. You nocturnal breeds have a strange accent.”

“You’re the ones that speak a different language, though, yeah?”

“All the more reason you can’t pronounce my name. Curtis is much easier for your tongue.” Bucky raises his eyebrows at that, and it takes the prince a second to realize that could be taken  _wrong_. Gods, he forgot how raunchy the lower classes can be. At least, outwardly raunchy. The High Tree is always so much more subtle about everything.

“Sure is.” Bucky is quiet for a moment, ruminating on  _something_ , and then he just blurts, “I saw you, with other people. Out there. You like to dance, don’t you? You just- None of them are any good at the dancing bit.”

One of the prince’s antenna twitch. He isn’t good at dancing beyond the basic steps he’s had ingrained in his mind over several years of classes and instructors. He just- Dancing with Bucky felt like something different than the normal mundanity of the higher class idiots who wanted to get a good favor with royalty. It felt as though Bucky actually wanted to dance, for the sole reason of moving and entwining himself around the prince’s being. 

Not out of any reason but to talk and become close with someone.

And after the feeling of dancing with Bucky, it’s hay, it was hard to not want more from his partners. Maybe he accidentally got a hopeful light in his eyes. 

“If you can call any of this dancing.” He should turn the man down now and leave him in the dust. Give him a scathing look and a reminder that he’s below the prince, but. He really, really isn’t. At least, he doesn’t seem to be. He doesn’t know much about the other breeds, and he especially doesn’t know much about the Root dwellers, but if they’re all like Bucky, they can clean themselves up.

Sure, Bucky would never look high class, even cleaned up, with his wide smile and an open gaze, but he still looks good. Prettier than he was expecting- He’d even go so far as to say that Bucky’s wings are more extravagant than his own, if that wasn’t a ridiculous statement. Mantises are the epitome of beauty, and butterflies are the epitome of pretty. Moths? Are the knockoff butterflies with less color and more animal attributes than any of them.

But Bucky’s wings are huge and bright green and  _expressive_ , and there’s something beautiful about the tails that are so long they trail the floor where he sits. Something beautiful about the way the fur on his chest blooms from his clothes. Even if the prince didn’t like Bucky, he’d be lying if he said he wasn’t attracted to him, which is rare enough.

Rare enough to be attracted to anyone, rarer still to actually  _like_  the person. But while he grew up and became what his father groomed him into, what his lineage promised him, Bucky stayed the same youthful moth full of life. And there’s something wonderful about that.

Like he said- Bucky’s interesting.

Maybe he  _did_  drink something tonight, because that’s such quick judgment, dangerous judgment.

“Nah,” Bucky says, pulling the prince out of his thoughts. “This isn’t really dancing. You should come down to the Roots, sometime, if you wanna see people actually enjoy themselves.” He raises an eyebrow, a deliberate gesture, but even that looks real. The prince may be an actor, but Bucky is the muse.

“Oh, my heritage is a little too high class to  _enjoy_ anything.” He doesn’t often joke, but then again, most of his humor is too scathing or sarcastic to actually be understood. Too dry. But Bucky grins anyways, and leans forward enough to hook an arm around the prince’s shoulders and pull him closer. It doesn’t surprise him in the slightest that Bucky is still a touchy,  _touchy_ person.

“I won’t argue against that. But you look like you could use a few hours of entertainment. I can teach you to _really_ dance if you want. Away from all this.” It sounds so  _corny_  but it doesn’t all at once. From anyone else’s mouth, especially the people that the prince knows, those words would be a sign of insincerity and manipulation. A sign to get away.

Bucky gives him a hopeful look, half-biting his lip and his antennae tense and still for once. He wants the prince to say yes. Maybe the dancing is a ploy, but his affection for the prince isn’t.

“Where would we go?” The prince asks, and he wants to laugh when Bucky’s wings droop dramatically, relaxing. He’s smart, if he realized that the prince is going to say yes.

“I dunno. Anywhere? This is your territory. I’m just some lowly dirty Root dweller, remember? I sing sinful praises to the Moon and roll around in filth.”

The prince raises an eyebrow and then snorts, shaking his head. “Just remember that you yourself admitted that. That was  _you_  stereotyping.”

“Hey, can’t stereotype myself if it’s the truth.” Bucky raises both hands and downs his drink, amusement sparkling in his eyes. The prince has always admired the amount of emotion in other fairies’ eyes.

“Perhaps.” He stands up and makes sure his movements are fluid and graceful. If he’s going to impress Bucky, he might as well  _impress_  him. “Come on. I can find us an empty room. Maybe even an unused hall.” His father is going to kill him for leaving early from the party. If he left it because of some pretty mantis, maybe he’d understand, but for some lowly moth. Oh, it’s not going to be enjoyable. But maybe that’s what makes leaving, right now, all the more enjoyable- there’s a small thrill to leaving with someone unapproved, someone who’s genuinity is a threat to his father and everyone else he’s ever even spoken to.

He holds out his hand when Bucky gets up, and the man takes his hand, mockingly graceful and light on his feet. Clearly trying to make fun of the light delicate movements and poised superiority that all mantises know how to portray. The prince can’t help but snort again at the way Bucky turns his nose up like he’s some snotty aristocrat; he leads him away with a small smile on his face and Bucky’s warm hand snug against his own.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  
> 
> Art done by the beautiful [Bluandorange](http://bluandorange.tumblr.com), who's continued art and inspiration is wonderful and honestly? Is just amazing and helps me plan out these chapters and actually writes some of the dialogue. LOVE

**Author's Note:**

> This is actually the same type setting as this story I posted a while ago [posted a while ago](http://archiveofourown.org/works/3827401). However, in this setting, Curtis isn't the human that they eventually capture and turn into a fairy, but is actually a Mantis from birth. So this verse is wholly immersive in the Fairy landscape that I've been trying to build upon. And because I inevitably know more about the universe than any of the readers, feel free to ask questions; I feel that I've explained things sufficiently enough, but I might have missed important explanations. So please, feel free.
> 
> And as usual, please come bug me on [Tumblr](http://buckycurtis.tumblr.com). Not only do I have a kickass blog, but I also post _way_ more writing there, and I also post things way earlier than they ever show up on here. So please, give me a follow, send me an ask, you know what to do.
> 
> And as always, this verse was absolutely created through [Bluandorange's](http://bluandorange.tumblr.com) creativity, since this all started out as an RP verse and turned into my 'I am studying for finals and need a break from bullshit' writing project.


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